MY JAPANESE FRIENDS
After Wakamiya went back, some young Japanese students, Oku and Hidaka,
arrived from Japan, and Hara and Oku removed to my lodging to live
together, and Hidaka was the frequent visitor. Until my Japanese friends
removed to my place, they did not know all about my poverty, for my
landlady was such a kind woman, and she always served teas, dinners or
suppers to all of us whenever they came, notwithstanding I was in a
heavy debt against her. She did not want me “to look too shabby.” But
now they were with me day and night.
Perhaps nobody could understand Japanese better than Japanese. They at
once found out that I went to bed without supper every night. Their
nature was only too tender and too delicate. They did not want to help
me in any way which I might have taken as “insulting.” Hara came to me
and said, “Do you know, Markino, I cannot have my supper in my room?”
I said, “Oh?”
“No, I could not,” he continued. “That gas-stove gives bad odor, and I
lose all my appetite. May I have my supper in your room? But do I
disturb you? Tell me if I do.”
Two suppers were already ordered. The maid used to bring them to my
room. “Kindly keep company with me,” was the most courteous word of
Hara. Although I was so much moved with his kindness I intentionally did
not express my thanks to him, for I knew it was not his desire. On the
contrary, I often told him it was “a great disturbance to me” to have
supper together, and asked him to have his supper in his own room.
Oku and Hidaka often said to me, “We want so much to go to some west-end
restaurants, but we cannot read the menu, and we are too shy to go there
ourselves alone. Will you kindly take us to those restaurant?” Sometimes
I accepted it for the sake of “their pleasure,” and sometimes I refused,
saying they ought to be ashamed of themselves for to be so “shy.”
Now I sincerely apologize to my Japanese friends for mentioning that in
this book, for I know only too well that they would not like that. Only
if I were in Japan I should not utter a single word about that. But in
England I always feel I am an interpreter between English and Japanese,
and I want to introduce to all the English readers the different morals
of Japanese peoples.
This is only a brief sketch of their kindness. They have done most
innumerous kindness to me, which I shall not disclose here. The day
might come that I might forget that delicate taste of these dinners, but
their sweetest, tenderest, and most delicate kindness to me shall I
never forget.
Once in a week we used to have Japanese dinner. It was our greatest fun.
After whole day’s work we all went out for shopping the materials--such
as beef, chickens, fishes, turnips, carrots, mushrooms and rices. We
were loaded with bundles. Very often the bags were broken on the street,
and all those turnips were rolling over the pavement. We picked them up
with such laughter, but if too many English peoples were watching us, we
were so shy, and left them on the street, and ran up to home as quick as
possible.
Oku’s room was our kitchen. After we brought back all the materials, we
asked the maid to lend us several saucepans, a pastry-board, and knives.
We spread out some newspaper on the table and prepared the food, and
cooked everything on the fireplace. We did not want anybody to come into
our “cooking” room. The door had no key, so we used to put several
chairs against the door. But the maid had such enormous strength; she
often pushed the door open. Then all the chairs tumbled over, and such
confusion it was. Just like an earthquake! We were so shy, and we hid
ourselves behind the covers and screens.
To us, our ill-cooked Japanese dishes were far more delicious than those
dinners at Savoy or Carlton. I often ate too much, and I could not move.
“Oh, pray don’t make me laugh! It’s simply torture to me. I feel such a
pain!” I was really a pig.
The most valuable friendship I had with Hara, was not only with his
delicate sympathy on my poverty, or any discussion about the English
life. There was something more. That was because he was such an
accomplished and sincere artist. The very first day he came to see me I
noticed he was playing his pencil on a piece of paper all the time
while we were talking, then he crunched it and threw it into my
waste-paper basket and went off. For curiosity, I picked up that paper
after he went away and looked at it. Why, there was such wonderful
portraits of mine! Some profiles and some full faces with decided
likeness, and some whole figures with all my personal mannerism caught
so accurately. The full admiration and respect towards him was grown in
my heart at once. “Ah, surely his art is much elder than mine. How very
lucky to get such a friend!”
But he himself was so modest and so earnest and so sincere to the art.
First few weeks I used to take him round the streets, and whenever we
passed some picture shops he stopped to look through the show window,
and he would not move on. I told him those nameless artists’ works were
not half as good as his own. But he always said, “Oh, please don’t say
so. Perhaps my drawings are surer than those, and my compositions are
better too. But the European artists know how to use oils so skillfully.
I learn great lessons from them.”
Although I myself am such a great admirer of Turner now, I was not so
until Hara came. In fact, I hated Turner. Just a few days after Hara
arrived in London, he and I went to the National Gallery and sat down on
the seats in the Turner’s room.
I said to him, “The greatest heroes in this world were generally the
greatest deceivers. Don’t you think Turner was one of the greatest
heroes and deceivers?”
“Why?”
“Why, come and look at this picture of Trafalgar Battle. Look at those
figures! Look at Nelson! What an awful drawing! I think even
ten-year-old child could draw better figures. Oh, Turner was such a
speculator!”
Hara was in silence.
“Do open your mouth and tell me your opinion.”
“My opinion? I have no opinion at the present moment. Everything is so
different from what I anticipated in Japan. I feel I am dreaming, and I
feel as if fox is in my head. So pray leave me quite alone. Only one
word I want to tell you. That is, I appreciate your sincereness. Turner
is known as one of the greatest artists in the world. Everybody says
‘Turner, Turner, and Turner.’ But how many of them really understand
why Turner is a great artist? Now you don’t like Turner, and you
express that so freely. I like you so much because you are not a bit
conceited.”
Hara began to copy Rembrandt in the National Gallery. He went there
twice a week quite regularly. One whole year passed by. One evening he
came back from the National Gallery and said to me, “Now I have really
found out that Turner is very, very great. I say this with all my own
confidence and responsibility.”
Since this evening he used to tell me how much love he is in with
Turner. I hated him to talk of Turner like that, and whenever he began
to talk of Turner I used to turn the topic of our conversation into
Russo-Japanese War with Oku.
Hara sighed deeply. “My poor friend, if you cannot love Turner, you
cannot be a great artist. For you, Turner is more important than the war
news.”
“Oh, shut up, Hara, I hate Turner; you are not allowed to say Turner in
front of me.”
It was just the time that all those small works of Turner’s were put in
Tate Gallery. Hara came back from the Tate and asked me--“My dear
friend, will you honorably accept my humble invitation to a worthless
luncheon to-morrow?”
I answered him, “My dear friend, I most humbly accept your honorable
invitation.”
“Ah, then, you must go to the Tate at the same time and look at those
Turners with me for my pleasure.”
I was well cornered, I could not refuse it. I asked him whether he
wanted me to go to the Turner’s room before or after the luncheon. He
said he did not mind either way.
I said, “If I see Turner before the luncheon I shall lose all my
appetite, and if I go there after the luncheon it would be seriously
dangerous. Oh no, not after the meal, please!”
However, we went to the Tate after the luncheon next day. Hara led me
into the Turner’s room. I cannot express my feelings I had at that
moment. Neither my Japanese nor my English (very sadly both are quite
broken!) shall be able to express it. I think I was so strongly
impressed by those wonderful Turners especially because I began to
struggle to paint my favorite London fogs at that time. I watched one
picture more than twenty
[Illustration: THE THAMES AT RANELAGH.]
minutes, then I had “go around,” then I went back to some certain
pictures again. Those wonderful atmospheric effects! The colors were
breathing! The tones were moving! I had quite forgotten myself until the
closing time came. I noticed somebody was standing behind me. Thinking
it was Hara, I began to talk Japanese. But no answer! I looked back. He
was a strange English man. Where was Hara? The porter said, “Your
Japanese friend slipped off a long time ago.”
When I came back to my place, Hara shook my hand most warmly.
“So, you love Turner more than myself now. You were talking with Turner,
and you have quite forgotten me. I am so glad, because you were quite
right. Now I suppose you would not mind if I ask you to go to the
National Gallery and see those Turners?”
“Would not mind? Why, I should like to go there with you so badly.”
We both went to the National Gallery next day. All the Turners looked to
me quite different. Hara said to me, “Look at those figures and horses.
As you told me one year ago, they are very much like an amateur’s work.
But if you doubt whether was Turner good draughtsman or not, go
downstairs, or go to South Kensington Museum and look at his water-color
study. What could he not have done? Indeed, those studies show that
Turner was very accurate about his drawings. But I am sure he became
conscious that too accurate drawings give rather vulgar feeling, just
like those cheap illustrations in some periodicals. Therefore he wanted
to avoid all those possibilities of vulgar minute details. How noble and
how high his art was!”
I thoroughly agreed with Hara. Thanks heartily to my dear friend Hara.
He made my blind eyes open so that I could see the wonderful arts of
Turner!
With his sincerity and eagerness Hara was progressing his art day by
day, and after three years he became to understand the European art most
thoroughly. I remember Mr. Spielmann reproduced his copy of _Rembrandt_,
together with the original, in _Graphic_, and he wrote most flattering
articles. Even now Mr. Spielmann often tells me that “your friend Hara
has seen most inner side of those masterpieces in the National Gallery.”
Lately he wrote me from Japan. This is the translation:--
“Ever since I came back to Japan I have been so busy to see all those
old Japanese masterpieces again to compare them with European art. I
think now I understand them. How often I wished you were with me to look
at those wonderful works! Nowadays all the Westerners have begun to take
notice with our old arts. But I am afraid they are generally so
miserably mistaken. I feel it is our duty to write a book on this
subject. Let us do that some day soon.”